You and Me, Like Gravity
by EmilyFuckingFitch
Summary: Soulmate AU, in which they get the name of their soulmate in their soulmate's handwriting on their body at a certain age. Root/Shaw
1. Chapter 1

"Sameen."

Shaw grunts, not in the mood to talk. She'd just entered her apartment, with Root trailing closely behind her. They had a run-in with their number—somehow, he'd realized that he was being followed by them, pulled out a handgun from his coat pocket, and began shooting in their direction as he was running toward the opposite. Shaw had pushed Root toward the side of the building and out of harm's way in time, but in doing so, Shaw had put herself in the line of gunfire, and was grazed by a bullet to the shoulder. Unfortunately for Shaw, that meant that Reese is assigned with picking up where they'd left off, chasing down their trigger-happy number.

So here they are, twenty minutes after the fact, with Shaw trying to keep pressure on the wound, and Root watching her closely.

Root closes the door behind her, locks it. Shaw doesn't bother to tell Root to leave anymore—Root thinks that Shaw probably realizes by now that, short from murdering her, Root comes and goes on her own terms, or the Machine's.

So instead of telling her to get out, Shaw walks to her bathroom to find alcohol to put on her wound, rolling up her left sleeve as she goes.

"Sameen," Root tries again, as Shaw grabs a bottle of alcohol from her medicine cabinet and opening it.

"What?" Shaw grits out, pouring the alcohol over her wound.

Root, leaning on the doorframe, quirks her eyebrow. She wonders if Shaw's annoyance is from the pain, or from the fact that she'd lost on her bet against Root on whether he was the perp or the victim.

("Wanna make a bet, Shaw?"

"No."

"Let's bet on whether our number's a perp or a victim."

"What don't you understand about the meaning of 'no,' Root?"

"Winner gets anything they want."

"So if I win, you'll leave me alone for a year?"

"A month. And if I win, I get to be around you for a month—and you can't complain about it. And you can't murder me either."

"…Deal. Bet you our number's a victim."

"I knew you'd say that."

"You can't cheat with the Machine, Root."

"Wouldn't dream of it, Sameen.")

She hadn't cheat—well, she hadn't cheat with the Machine anyway. _Technically,_she'd gotten a head start. She'd been following their number for a few days before bringing Shaw on the case, hacking into his bank account and saw that he got a recurring amount of $100,000 from an undisclosed source. After tracing who wired him the money, she'd realized that the donor was a member of the Russian mob. A little more digging, and she'd realized that their number was a hitman-for-hire.

So, if you're a stickler for rules then, _yes,_she'd cheated. But the point is, she didn't cheat with Her help, which was Shaw's only condition. So, based on the terms of their bet, her victory was won, fair-and-square.

She smirks, remembering what she'd won. _A whole month,_and Shaw can't complain about her presence. Or kill her for it. Although, she briefly wonders if that means Shaw's not going to talk to her at all for a whole month.

"Well? Are you going to say something after that or are you just going to repeat my name for the entire day?"

Her smirk deepens. Seems like Shaw's still going to talk this month.

"With any luck, the latter," Root purrs, her eyes glinting with mischief.

Shaw rolls her eyes, taking out a roll of bandage from her cabinet with her right arm. Her long sleeved shirt had a tear from when she'd pushed Root against the side of the building roughly. Root hadn't notice it then—her mind was a little too preoccupied with the feeling of Shaw's body pressed against hers—but now, she sees it.

It was curly handwriting on her skin, and it started with an 'S'.

Her curiosity piques, wondering if that was Shaw's soulmate tattoo, and whose name was on her skin. And despite herself, part of her hopes that, maybe, it's her name that she was seeing.

So she asks, "What's that on your shoulder?"

"It's a wound from me saving your ass," Shaw bites out, rolling the bandage onto her would to cover the graze on her right shoulder. "You're welcome by the way."

Unfazed by her hostility, Root pushes, "No, your other one. What does it say?"

Realizing what Root's seeing, she tries to over it up. "Damn it," Shaw mutters under her breath, now trying to roll a bandage over the tear to cover her tattoo.

"Is that your soulmate tattoo?"

"Root," Shaw warns, "You've got five seconds to get out of my face before I punch you."

"I won the bet," Root reminds her, "you can't punch me."

"I can't _murder_ you," Shaw corrects, finishing up her bandage. "You said nothing about locking you up in a corner and punching you."

Root winks, still not taking the severity of the situation seriously.

"Kinky."

Shaw turns to face her, her face, hard.

"Four."

"You know, Sameen_,_" Root says casually, "If you lock me up, people are going to die."

Shaw squints at her. "In exchange for having a crazed psychopath off the streets?" She folds her arms. "I'll take my chances. _Three._"

The Machine buzzes in her ear. She has a new number for her.

Root smiles at Shaw, pushing herself off the doorframe.

"Looks like I have to cut our girl talk short, Sameen. Duty calls, " Root says.

Shaw quirks her eyebrow, her tense posture loosening.

"New number?" Shaw asks, a bit too eagerly. "Need backup?"

"See?" Root teases. "You do care about me."

Shaw's expression darkens again.

"_Two,_" Shaw grits out, reminding Root of her not-so-hollow threat.

"I'm gone, I'm gone," Root acquiesces, walking toward Shaw's front door.

"And don't even think about coming back!" Shaw yells out from the bathroom.

"I make no promises, " Root says in a sing-song tone, opening the door to let herself out.

"So," Root whispers, closing the door behind her. She walks toward the stairs, and looks up to look straight at the security camera in the top corner. "What do you know about Sameen's tattoo?"


	2. Chapter 2

_Retrieving records._

_Accessing data._

_Assessment:_

_Shaw, Sameen._

_2 tattoos._

Root tilts her head, surprised. Normally, each person only has one name imprinted on their skin after they hit a certain age—the name of their one soulmate that they'll have in their lifetime. But the fact that Shaw has two names implies that Shaw has_ two _soulmates. Rare, but not unheard of.

_Lower back._

_Age 17._

'_S.'_

Subconsciously, Root moves her hand to hover over her own tattoo, on her right hip. She had tried to locate her own soulmate every year since the tattoo had appeared on her skin when she'd turned 17. The thing was, her soulmate's handwriting was hard to read. She tried tracking down anyone whose name could've matched the one on her skin, like "Sureen Shu," and "Saroon Sluw"—just to name a few, but apparently, out of the 7 billion people in the world, no one had any of those names. After her 5th year of trying to track them down, only to come back empty handed, she came to the conclusion that either her soulmate was already dead when she got her tattoo, or her soulmate still wasn't born yet. And after she'd hit the age of 29, she stopped looking altogether. She figured that, by now, there wasn't a point in finding her soulmate—if her soulmate still existed in her lifetime, then the age gap would most definitely be an issue. It just simply wasn't worth it anymore.

_Shoulder._

_Age 22._

'_S.'_

_Assessment complete._

Root frowns. That doesn't give her much to go off of. She already knows that one of Shaw's tattoos is located on her shoulder, and knows that that one starts with a curly 'S.' The information on when Shaw had gotten them wouldn't be much help to her, either—in fact, it seems almost irrelevant.

"Can you tell me the two names?"

Root waits, expecting a response. But after waiting a few seconds, she realizes that She isn't going to give her one.

Root smiles in faint amusement.

"You want me to go about this the old fashion way, don't you?" She asks rhetorically, as she begins walking down the stairs to leave the apartment complex.

_Relevant number location:_

_40.7484° N, 73.9857° W_

Root takes Her change topic as a yes.

No matter, she thinks. She can do this without Her help. After all, she was a killer-for-hire before she was Her Analog Interface, and during her time as a hitman, she'd picked up a couple of skills that she still had up her sleeve, skills that would help her extort and extract the information she wanted.

And the first she's going to use?

Root reaches the bottom of the stairs, opening the exit door.

She smirks.

Subterfuge.

* * *

><p>"Hello, Harold," Root greets, almost too sweetly.<p>

Finch jolts from his desk chair at the sound of her voice. Whether it's because he hadn't expect her to be in his library right now, or if it's because of her tone of voice, Root's not sure.

Regaining his composure, he swiftly turns his chair around to face her, away from his computers.

"Hello Ms. Groves," Finch greets back, a hint of shock and unease still in his voice. "To what do I owe the pleasure of you coming here?"

Root smiles playfully. "Oh, you know, Harold," she says coyly, walking toward him. "Needed to chase down a relevant number."

Well, not exactly. The relevant number that She had assigned her earlier today, Root had already tracked down and taken care of. The reason why she's in Finch's library, is because she needs some information from Finch about Shaw. So in a sense, she _is_ chasing down a relevant number—just relevant to Root.

Details, details, Root waves off in her head. Finch wouldn't mind if she neglects telling him of them.

"I was working on a case with Shaw yesterday," Root starts, leaning against the computer desk absentmindedly. "And I saw the name on her shoulder." She sighs, feigning sympathy, and baits, "It's a shame, really."

Finch looks at her, but hesitates on saying anything, as though he doesn't know how to take Root's sudden display of compassion, or whether it's genuine or not.

Eventually, he nods, like he's putting his trust in the possibility that Root is still a human with human emotions, instead of in the skepticism that she has none left, and takes Root's prodding bait.

"Ms. Shaw certainly is one of a kind," Finch comments. He adds, "Makes you wonder who else in the world is named Sameen."

Root's eyes widen.

"The name on her shoulder is _Sameen_?" Root asks incredulously.

"Oh dear," Finch says gravely, seemingly realizing that, despite what Root had let on, she hadn't known what Shaw's tattoo had said, and that he had told Root of Shaw's personal information without her permission.

He shakes his head. "Ms. Shaw will not be pleased with me about this."

Root doesn't hear him, her mind too preoccupied on this new information, her heart sinking. She had anticipated this, had mentally prepared herself that there was a high possibility of Finch telling her that Shaw's tattoo was "Sarah Thomas," or "Sophia Carter," or "Scott Michaelson," and not Root's name. But despite herself, part of her had hoped that, maybe, against all odds, he'd say that the tattoo said "Samantha Groves," that he'd tell her that _she _was Shaw's soulmate.

Root shakes her head, disappointed. Partly because the name that marked Shaw's shoulder wasn't Root's, but moreso because she had let herself_hope. _Root had learned long ago that her story didn't have a happy ending—took her over 10 years to learn that lesson. So for her to let herself believe that she had a chance at being Shaw's soulmate, after all this time? For her to hope that, maybe, her story _did _end happily?

It makes her stupid, naïve—_human_, Root thinks in disdain, the thought leaving a bad taste in her mouth.

Root sighs, thinking back to Shaw's tattoos again. She now knows that the one on Shaw's shoulder says 'Sameen,' but the one on her lower back is still unknown to Root. The question now is, does she still want to uncover what the other tattoo says? And if she does, will she be able to accept and live with fact that it may not be her name on Shaw's skin?

Yes, Root thinks. She would. Because even if Root doesn't get her happy ending—a probability that's become almost certain—doesn't mean that Shaw shouldn't have hers. Brave, fiercely loyal, recklessly protective—if anyone deserved to find their soulmates and have that happily ever after, it had to be Shaw.

And Root's going to help her find them.

Breaking out of her reverie, determined to track Shaw's soulmates, Root asks, "What's the last name on her shoulder?"

Finch shakes his head, turning his chair to face his computer. "I'm not at liberty to discuss this with you, Ms. Groves. I've already said too much."

Root gives him a saccharine smile. "You've already told me the first name, Harold." She leans down, playful, but menacing. "Shaw will make you suffer whether or not you tell me the last name." Root shrugs casually. "So why don't you just tell me it?"

Finch frowns, as though he's debating whether or not there's truth in her words.

After a moment, he answers:

"There is no last name," Finch informs her. "It only says 'Sameen.'"

Root leans back, away from Finch, and tilts her head. Odd, Root thinks. She's never heard of that happening, to have a soulmate tattoo with only a first name and not that last. But then again, Shaw _did _have two tattoos, which was already rare. It wouldn't be so far off to believe that Shaw had this anomaly as well.

But that does mean that tracking Shaw's soulmates down just got a little more challenging.

Root smiles, her eyes determined. She's always loved a challenge.

"Don't worry, Harold," Root tells him, winking. She stands up and starts walking toward the door. "Secret's safe with me."

"Unfortunately, Ms. Groves," Finch says, as she's closing the door behind her. "That doesn't make me feel any better."

Root shrugs, even though Finch can't see her.

It's not her fault that he doesn't believe her.


	3. Chapter 3

1,450.

That's how many people have the name 'Sameen' in the United States _alone._

Root groans, puts her laptop on Shaw's coffee table and shifts her body on Shaw's couch cushions to lie down on it, her legs dangling on the armrest. After her talk with Finch, Root had called the next person whom she thought would know about Shaw's other tattoo—Reese. After all, he and Shaw had been fairly close before Root had join the team, and it wouldn't be that far of a guess to believe that he and Shaw had sex at least once. And if they did, it'd mean that Reese would've seen the name on Shaw's lower back. But whether or not Reese actually knows anything about that tattoo, Root never got a chance to find out. Her conversation with him wasn't exactly as informative as the one she had with Finch. In fact, it only lasted a total of 30 seconds.

("Hey, Reese. You got a minute?"

"Sorry, Root. Not helping you with your little pursuit to get yourself killed by Shaw."

"Flattered that you thought of helping, but don't worry. I've got it handled on that front. Can't a couple of co-workers have a little chat?"

"No. Finch told me what you're trying to do. It's not my place to tell you."

"Do you always do what Finch tells you?"

"When he's making sense, yes."

"Fine. Go tend to your helper monkey duties."

"See you, Root.")

So now, because of Reese's inability to cooperate, Root not only has to track down each and every 'Sameen' still alive, but also figure out another way to uncover the name on Shaw's lower back. And compiling a list of all the 'Sameen's in the world hasn't been a walk in the park, either. She'd hacked every government's database to obtain the location of every person named 'Sameen' in the world—4096 in the world, 1450 in the United States. She'd successfully obtained all of their basic information, including their locations, but unfortunately for Root, governments apparently don't have a keen interest in keeping records of each person's soulmate tattoo, which meant that she has to hack into each one of their personal files, pictures, websites—anything Root could get her hands on. Of course, if Root had Her help, she would've been finished with this by now, but She wouldn't help her—whether because She didn't approve of it, or because She's adamant on her figuring it out herself—Root's not sure.

Root turns her head toward the ceiling, staring at the spinning fan. The other issue that she needs to resolve is devising a plan to find out the name on Shaw's lower back. Root briefly entertains the idea of just walking behind Shaw and lifting up her shirt to her midriff so she could see it—that would be the most efficient and certainly the most enjoyable way to go about things. But, despite what Reese thinks, Root doesn't hope to die anytime soon, and definitely not by Shaw's hands—at least, not in _that _way.

Although, she does have a month's worth of immunity from Shaw's murderous tendencies due to the fact that she won the bet…

Root shakes her head. She shouldn't. Even if Root did succeed in this plan and Shaw honors their bet, Shaw would be too angry with her to accept Root's compiled list of information on Shaw's potential soulmates, defeating her entire purpose of doing this in the first place.

Root gets pulled out of her thoughts when she hears keys jingling at the front door.

_Sameen Shaw._

_Assessing Primary Asset damages:_

_None life-threatening._

Root smirks, pushes herself up from the couch with her elbows.

"Hey, sweetie," Root greets flirtatiously as the door opens.

Shaw narrows her eyes at Root, a scowl on her face. Her hair is disheveled, but still tied in a ponytail, and her black tank top is skewed, revealing some skin on her lower abdomen.

Root licks her lips.

Shaw steps inside, taking her key out of the lock, and closes the door behind her.

"Didn't I tell you to never come back?"

Root shrugs, tries to let the comment roll off her shoulders. It still stings, nonetheless. She grabs her laptop from the coffee table, and lies back down on the couch, the laptop sitting on her thighs. "When have I ever listened?"

Shaw grumbles in annoyance as she walks over to her kitchen.

Root turns on her laptop, intending on finishing compiling the list for Shaw. But as she's waiting for it to load, she catches sight of movement in the corner of her eye. Root turns her head to get a better view. Despite the odd angle—her head is still on the couch cushion—Root is still able to see Shaw opening the top cupboard, taking out a bowl and a bag of cereal, and placing them on the countertop.

Root's laptop pings, indicating that it's done loading. Root really should get back to her work if she intends on finishing by the end of the week, but despite herself, she finds herself still watching Shaw, captivated. Her stare lingers on Shaw as she pours cereal into the bowl and opens the drawer in front her, taking out two spoons and dropping one down in the bowl. She opens the fridge, grabs a carton of milk and pours the milk into the bowl, then in the bag of cereal. She picks up the spoon on the counter, dips it into the bag of cereal—now saturated with milk—and scoops up a spoonful into her mouth. She chews it once and closes her eyes. She smiles, then proceeds to continue chewing the cereal loudly.

Root's lips curve upward in amusement.

After finishing chewing, Shaw opens her eyes. Just as she's about to look up from her bag of cereal and toward Root's direction, Root turns her gaze back to the laptop in front of her.

Root hears Shaw scoops another spoonful into her mouth.

"Stop trying to figure it out," Shaw tries to say, but it comes out as a mumble because she's chewing with her mouth full.

Still, Root's able to figure out what she says, and looks her, her eyebrow quirked.

"My job requires me to figure out many things, Sam," Root says, emphasizing her point by typing on her laptop. "Care to be more specific?"

Shaw frowns at her, not amused. She swallows her cereal and leans forward, her elbows on the countertop.

"Reese told me what you've been trying to do," Shaw explains, pointing at Root with her spoon, the milk dripping from the spoon onto the counter.

Root rolls her eyes. Of course he would rat her out to Shaw. Damn, helper monkey.

"If he'd just been more compliant," Root tells her matter-of-factly, "then I would've been done already."

"_Not_ the point." Shaw drops her spoon in the bag of cereal and stands upright. "My tattoos are _my _business, Root," Shaw scolds, picking up the bag in one hand and the bowl in the other, and starts walking over to Root. "And we have jobs to do. You can't go bothering him over something stupid during a mission. Reese could've gotten killed_._"

"So bothering him in between missions is alright with you?"

Shaw glares at her, putting the bowl of cereal on the table, next to Root.

"I'm warning you, Root," Shaw says, her voice low and intimidating.

Root grins at her, clearly not feeling threatened.

"Can't say I've ever been one to follow the rules."

Shaw rolls her eyes, probably realizing that she's just wasting her breath with this conversation. She turns to walk toward her room with her bag of cereal.

"You're a pain in the ass," Shaw grumbles, before slamming her door.

"Only yours," Root calls out, a grin still in place. She sits upright, moves her laptop to the other side of the couch, and grabs the bowl of cereal that Shaw had left for her. She looks down at it, picks up the spoon, and scoops the cereal into her mouth.

Root smiles.

Lucky Charms have always been her favorite.


	4. Chapter 4

_Irrelevant number location:_

_40°42'21.3"N 74°00'51.0"W_

Root groans at the sound of The Machine's voice, squinting her eyes closed. Blindly, she reflexively pulls the covers that are on her body up and over her head—as though that'll somehow stop Her from giving her more orders—and burrows herself deeper into the couch. Root has never been a morning person and has always despised waking up early. Despite the fact that she loves going on the missions She sends her off to, finding excitement and enjoyment in them—purpose, even—it still doesn't make waking up any easier.

But today, her disdain for mornings is worse than usual. Root had spent the entire night hacking into private accounts, websites, and databases in order to dig up a picture of soulmate tattoos and handwriting of every 'Sameen' in the world still alive. It took her hours to complete, but Root had succeeded—well, mostly. She was still missing one: Shaw's. Root had tried finding Shaw's information, but after an hour of searching, she came up empty handed. Either The Machine really doesn't want her to find it, or the ISA had destroyed all of her data when they tried to kill her.

But perhaps what Root had found most odd about her results were that none of their tattoos said 'Sameen,' and none of their handwritings had exactly matched the curly 'S' that was on Shaw. To be truthfully honest, Root's own handwriting was probably closer to the font on Shaw's shoulder than all of theirs. Either Shaw had tattooed the name onto herself—for what reason, Root's not sure—or Shaw's soulmate is someone who doesn't have Shaw as their soulmate. She hopes that it's the former and not the latter. For one, it'd mean that Shaw wasn't paired with someone who would inevitably fall in love with someone else. Secondly, it'd mean that the name that's etched on Shaw's back is her true soulmate. A name that could be hers. It's stupid, because Root knows where hope has gotten her in the past, but she can't help the tiny part of her that continues to hope, despite it all.

_Urgent._

Root sits upright.

"I'm up," Root mumbles, her head still hazy from her lack of sleep. She stretches her arms, yawning, as she opens her eyes. To her surprise, she finds a blanket over her body.

She furrows her brows. Root doesn't remember going to sleep with a blanket. She'd crashed last night, immediately after uploading all of her research onto her USB, and was too tired to grab a blanket from Shaw's closet beforehand, opting to lay her head on the couch cushion and curling herself up in a ball. So, either she'd sleepwalked or…

Root bites her lip, a smile blooming on her face as realization dawns on her. Most of the time, Shaw can be indifferent and callous towards her—cold, even. And a lot of the times, Root wonders if Shaw even wants her around at all. But it's times like these, when Root sees the tiny hints that Shaw does for her, like little notes that she isn't meant to find, that make Root's heart flutter and her mind reassured that Shaw does care for Root in her own way**.** But to what extent, Root's not sure.

_Assistance: Required._

_Contact Sameen Shaw for aid._

Root smirks. What better way to repay Shaw for her act of kindness than to invite her to a little action, she thinks. She gets up off the couch, folds the blanket neatly and lays it onto of the coffee table. Root looks around. The apartment is quiet, save for the hot air blowing from the window and the sound of cars honking outside. She checks the clock—it's 6:05a.m. Shaw's probably out doing her morning workout, Root thinks, scrunching her nose in disdain. She never understood Shaw's affinity for mornings and oftentimes hated it, moreso because after her early workouts, Shaw would ziptie Root's arms to tables, bedposts, radiators—really, anything that was sturdy and steady. And Root, being a heavy sleeper, never wakes up early enough to stop her from doing it. Sometimes Root enjoys the position she finds herself in—she's always had a soft spot for zipties—but most of the time, she just finds them inconvenient, especially when She has an assignment for her and Shaw's too stubborn to cut her loose.

("Shaw, let me out of these! She just assigned me a new number."

"Should've thought twice before you slept over again."

"Can we have this conversation later?"

"No."

_"Sameen."_

"I'm not letting you out. If your Machine really wanted this number to be saved, She would've texted me their locat—Well, then. Look's like I've got a new number."

"She wouldn't."

"She did. And your ass better be gone by the time I get back.")

But today, one good thing has come from Shaw's morning routine. Root grins to herself, walking towards Shaw's bedroom. Usually, Shaw brings all of her handguns with her when she leaves her apartment to track down her numbers. The only time they're in her apartment are when Shaw's sleeping, or when she's out at the crack of dawn doing her morning workout. Of course, Root's never been able to wake up early enough to take them while Shaw's out. And while she has thought about taking them while Shaw's asleep, Shaw would probably wake up and pick up her gun before she could even reach halfway through the room, and Root really hasn't had the urge to be on receiving end of Shaw's guns, especially if it's in Shaw's hands. She's been there before and Shaw's impeccable aim was both painful and, if she were honest, a bit of a turn on.

But today? Today, Root's awake and Shaw's out, which means that she's going to be able to sneak in Shaw's bedroom and take one of her favorite handguns to use during their mission, and hopefully, come out of it unscathed.

Root reaches Shaw's door, pushing it open. She walks in, almost carelessly, and not more than five steps in, she finds herself being pushed against the wall, a forearm against her neck, another on her abdomen, and a wet-haired but otherwise dressed Shaw in front of her.

Well, this was certainly unexpected for Root.

"A little early for foreplay, Sweetie," Root flirts, trying to hide her surprise. "But I'm willing to work with that."

Shaw narrows her eyes, keeping the pressure on Root's neck steady.

"Why are you in my room?"

Root tries to shrug, but the movement only makes Shaw push harder against her throat. Root tries to bite back a moan at the pressure, feeling the air in her throat closing in and reveling in it.

"Just wanted to find those zipties of yours," Root breathes, winking. "For later."

"How about I use them on you now?" Shaw asks, low and menacing, with no hint of playfulness in her voice, and despite herself, Root feels herself getting more turned on by Shaw by the second.

"As much as I would love that, Sam," Root rasps out, "The Machine has something important for me to do today. Irrelevant number."

"And when has that ever stopped me from tying you up?" Shaw taunts.

"But this time you're invited," Root grins.

At that, Shaw perks up.

"You gonna promise me a good time?" Shaw asks, lightening the pressure she's keeping against Root's throat. "Because the last time you invited me I got shot."

Root smirks. "I thought you liked it a little rough."

"Only when I do the roughing," Shaw corrects, before pushing Root one last time against the wall and letting her go. Root's about to let out a sly comment but Shaw beats her to it.

"Don't start," Shaw warns, cutting Root off. She walks towards her drawer, opening it to grab her handguns. She then walks back towards Root and reaches inside her jacket pocket.

Root quirks her eyebrow, but doesn't do anything to stop Shaw from digging into her pocket. "Feeling a little frisky?"

Shaw rolls her eyes, takes her hand out of Root's pocket to reveal a set of keys. She jingles them in front of Root. "I get to drive this time," Shaw says, before walking around Root and towards the front door.

"Wait!" Root calls, following Shaw from behind.

Shaw doesn't turn around.

"What?"

"May I please have a gun?" Root pouts, her voice sounding too polite and sweet.

Shaw turns around, her hand on the doorknob. Root can tell that she's fighting the urge to roll her eyes. She expects Shaw to just shrug her off like she normally does, but instead, Shaw opens the door and tells her:

"Only if you behave yourself."

Root grins in response, and follows Shaw out the door, closing it behind her.

Maybe they're making progress after all.


	5. Chapter 5

"Root_,"_ Shaw says, sounding annoyed, revving the engine louder. "I'm hardly going sixty-five miles per hour. _Why _is your grip on me still tightening?"

To be perfectly honest, Shaw should've known that this was going to happen when she took Root's keys from her and decided that she was going to drive her motorcycle. To expect that Root was going to behave herself with Shaw pressed against her front, the adrenaline pumping in her veins from Shaw running through so red lights in the city that Root had lost count, and the feel of Shaw's abdomen under the palms of her hands as she wrapped her arms around Shaw's front, was, even by Root's standards, a bit foolish. Shaw probably realized the same and regretted it immediately after the first minute of driving. Still, she didn't ask to switch their positions—whether it's Shaw's pride, stubbornness, or something else that kept her from doing it, Root couldn't tell. Regardless, Root's determined to milk this for all it was worth.

"Just can't keep my hands to myself, sweetie," Root purrs, her arms tightening around Shaw even more, her hands trailing lightly over Shaw's clothed abdomen.

Root feels her stiffen in front of her.

"Next time The Machine better give us a stake-out car," Shaw grumbles under her breath.

Root moves her head so she can see Shaw's face through both of their helmets. "So there's a next time?"

"Just shut up and let me drive."

Root smiles, but doesn't say anything after that. Instead, she rests her chin on Shaw's shoulder, relaxing her body to mold herself better to Shaw's. With the wind running through her hair, Shaw in her arms, and a number to chase, maybe this is what it'd feel like to be happy, Root thinks.

* * *

><p>"We're here," Root announces, as Shaw slows her motorcycle to a stop and parks it to the curb, a block away from the grey building that The Machine's coordinates has led them to. Root turns her head towards the building, scanning it for any signs that would tell her what this building actually is. The building is about 20 stories high, and through the windows, she can see that most of the lights in the rooms are on. From her angle, she couldn't see much else in the rooms. And except for a few suited men and women with backpacks and briefcases walking through the doors, not many people were entering or exiting the building.<p>

She hears a distinct shrill of a bell ringing, almost like…a school bell. She sees three MTA buses pull up at the corner of the street, across the grey building. Within seconds, teenagers and little children with messenger bags and backpacks start rushing down from the stairs of the bus to the doors of the building, running like there's no tomorrow.

And then she sees it, on one of their backpacks.

Léman Manhattan Preparatory School.

Root tilts her head, finding it strange that the irrelevant number frequents a boarding school. While the number could be someone who works in the building—a teacher or an administrator, perhaps—it's also a possibility that the number is someone who _goes _there. If it's the latter, Root wonders what this child's been doing to appear on Her radar, to be part of a crime so young. Even Root hadn't dabbled in breaking the law until she was _at least _fifteen.

She feels Shaw shift in front of her, taking off her helmet.

"You can let go now," Shaw huffs, elbowing the side of Root's stomach, but not harshly.

Taking the hint, Root releases her hold on Shaw and steps off of the motorcycle. She unlatches her own helmet, and takes it off, locking it onto the left handlebar of the motorcycle. By the time she's done and looks back up at Shaw, she notices her expression is much darker than before—solemn, almost—as she stares at the boarding school with students still filing in.

Concerned, Root asks, "Is something the matter?"

Shaw purses her lips. She mutters, "I've been here before."

Root takes a step closer to her, debating whether or not to try and comfort her. Shaw's never been one to like physical contact, and in fact, almost always bristles at Root's faintest touches. But after a moment of hesitation, Root decides to put a hand on Shaw's shoulder anyway, hoping that it will ease whatever Shaw's feeling in some way.

"Do you have another life I should know about?" Root asks teasingly, trying to lighten Shaw's mood. "Because I never pegged you to be one with a child and a white picket fence."

Unfortunately, it doesn't elicit the response Root wants or was expecting, like the rolling of eyes, a scoff, a shove. Instead, Shaw ignores what Root has said and gets off of the motorcycle, letting Root's hand fall from her shoulder. She returns her gaze at the boarding school, and after a moment, nods towards it and asks, "Which one's our number?"

_Number: Genrika Zhirova._

_Age: 11 years old._

_Ethnicity: Russian._

_Hair: Long, wavy, brown._

_Height: 4'5''._

Root's eyes widen. Their number _is _a child, Root thinks, surprised. What kind of trouble has she gotten herself into at such a young age? To be involved in something She's concerned about?

Root doesn't get a chance to think about it, because she spots a girl who perfectly matches Her description, stepping off of one of the MTA buses. Oddly enough, she's one of the few students who aren't scrambling to the doors, and, Root assumes, to their class on time. Walking leisurely at her own pace, a lunchbox in hand, Gen could be spotted out a mile away from the stark contrast of being in the midst of the surrounding students running like there's a deadline to be met.

Root points her out to Shaw.

"That's her," Root says. "Her name is Ge—"

"Gen," Shaw interrupts, cutting Root off. She shakes her head, letting out an irritated sigh. "I know her."

Root raises an eyebrow. "I didn't know your friends group expanded from just Bear."

Again, Shaw ignores her comment. She nods towards the direction of Gen, who's now entering the building. "She was my number a few months ago. I saved her from HR."

"Huh," Root hums, thinking. "So why has her number shown up again?"

Shaw frowns, turns to look at Root. "I don't know," she mutters.

Shaw faces the building again, her expression becoming more resolute. And then, without warning, she starts walking towards it. "But we're going to find out."

"Sameen," Root scolds, walking after her, trying to keep pace with Shaw. "You can't just walk in."

Shaw scoffs as she crosses the street, her heels clicking roughly on the pavement. "Watch me."

"Their employees are going to find us suspicious," Root reasons. She hears cars honking at them on her left—they're crossing the street on a red light, she realizes. Still, she continues her pace even as the drivers yell at them, because Shaw doesn't look like she's going to stop which means Root can't either.

"First of all we're too old to _go _to this school," Root says as they make it to the other side of the street. "Secondly, their work staff probably knows each other. If we try to go in as employees we're to going to stick out like sore thumbs.

And thirdly," Root continues, finally catching up to Shaw at the front doors of the building and grabs her arm to stop her from pulling the door handle. "We're not any of their parents."

Shaw looks at Root, her face, hard and defiant. She pulls her arm away roughly. "We can be."

Root quirks her eyebrow, a smirk playing on her lips. "Is that an invitation?"

Shaw narrows her eyes. "Your Machine better figure out some way to hack into the school's files," Shaw bites, before opening the door, holding it long enough so that Root can walk through as well. She walks up to the directory sign, her eyes scanning it as though she's looking for something specific. After a moment, Shaw heads to the right side of the hallway.

"Follow my lead," Shaw says lowly, and Root has no choice but to trail behind her, knowing that she won't be able to convince Shaw to rethink her plan.

Root just hopes Shaw knows what she's doing.


	6. Chapter 6

_Assistance required._

_Contacting Administrator…_

_Harold Finch._

"The main office is on the second floor," Shaw informs, as she leads them to the end of the corridor, where the stairs are. The hallways are empty, save for a few staff members who are giving them the skeptical side-eye, and the only sound that echoes in Root's ears are the clicks of their heels. But underneath the eerie silence and underneath Shaw's determined expression, Root can almost feel the storm brewing in Shaw, swirling and festering. There's something off about Shaw today that Root couldn't put a finger on. Root had noticed it when they first arrived at the building, and it only worsened when she'd told Shaw that Gen is their number. She'd wanted to ask why when she first noticed it, but had opted against it. She suspects that no good would come of it, and Shaw would just bite back in retaliation—and not in a fun way.

Still, Root can't help but wonder what caused the sudden shift in Shaw's mood as Root sees Shaw's pace pick up as they walk up the stairs. There's a sense of urgency in her steps…anxiousness, almost. She's only seen it once before, in Shaw's eyes, when Root was shot by Hersh and Shaw couldn't protect her from it, could only watch helplessly.

Root frowns, wondering if Shaw's anxious now for the same reason.

"You called, Ms. Groves?" Finch asks over the intercom in her ear.

"Actually," Root whispers, reaching the second floor of the building. "The Machine did." Shaw briefly looks behind at Root, a scowl on her face from her sudden outburst. Root mouths "Finch," pointing to her ear. Shaw shakes her head, but continues walking.

"Can you hack into Léman Manhattan Preparatory School's student files?" Root asks. "And make Shaw Gen's primary emergency contacts, preferably as her parent?"

She hears Finch hesitate a moment, then a sigh.

Eventually, he replies, "Do I even want to ask why?"

Root smiles, amused. "Probably not." He probably wouldn't believe her if she told him anyway. That it's _Shaw's _plan to do all of this, all for the sake of saving a little girl that they don't even know is a perp or a victim.

"Alright, Ms. Groves," Finch concedes reluctantly. "It's going to take me a few minutes to complete."

Shaw turns and enters the room on the left—the main office, according to the sign on top of the doorframe.

"Sorry, Harold. You have one," Root tells him before hanging up and stepping into the room.

Shaw's at the front desk already, in front of the main receptionist. Root tries to walk quickly to take her place next to Shaw.

"Hello, Ms… " Shaw discreetly glances down to the woman's nametag. "Robins," Shaw finishes. She tries to gives a friendly smile to the woman in front of them, but to Root, it just looks entire pained and forced. Root bites her lip, trying to stop herself from smiling. It's times like these when Root wonders how Shaw was an ISA Agent. It's almost funny to her how Shaw can shoot a guy fifty feet away with perfect aim but struggles to blend herself in with the rest of the human population and pretend to be a well-adjusted citizen.

But thankfully, the receptionist doesn't mention Shaw's awkward smile, either because she doesn't notice, or because she's too embarrassed for Shaw. Instead, she smiles politely and says, "Please, call me Carolyn. What can I help you with?"

"Carolyn, I'm Sameen, Gen's… mother," Shaw says stiltedly, as though the word feels foreign to her mouth. "I have to pull Gen out of school today. Her grandfather's sick, and one of his last wishes is to see Gen's face one last time."

Root raises an eyebrow. That's an interesting lie to choose. Couldn't she have chosen something less morbid? Or more believable?

Shaw must've noticed Root's judgmental skepticism because the next thing Root feels is Shaw's elbow hitting her roughly in her ribs. Root hisses, pouting, and all Shaw mutters under her breath in response is, "Deserved it."

Carolyn, though, doesn't seem to notice that either—Is she that dense?, Root wonders—and eats up Shaw's lie, putting a hand on Shaw's forearm in an attempt to comfort her. She gives Shaw a look of genuine pity, and Root can tell Shaw's trying not to snap at her and pull her arm away. "I'm so sorry to hear that Ms. Zhirova—"

"It's Ms. Shaw now," Shaw interrupts. "Zhirova was my late husband's last name."

"Oh, dear." For a moment, Carolyn looks like she doesn't know what to say and Root wants to roll her eyes. This woman is so fickle. So… _human._She scrunches her nose in disdain.

Eventually, Carolyn settles on saying, "I'm sorry about that." She looks down to the computer screen and begins typing something on the keyboard. "Let me just check our records that her primary contact is you and then I'll go ahead and call Gen's teacher to send Gen down her."

"Thanks," Shaw says, but she doesn't sound like she means it.

"Hm," Carolyn hums, frowning. "That's odd." She looks away from the screen and to Shaw. "Her primary contact says 'Root Shaw,' and that she's Gen's mother."

Root's grinning so widely from ear to ear that she hardly notices Shaw's brief moment of confusion, followed by a look of realization and a harsh glare thrown at Root. Root doesn't know if Harold did it intentionally or not—she suspects he didn't, because Harold wouldn't trust her to be responsible for Bear, let alone a _child. _Regardless of how this happened, she's going play into her cover and enjoy it, if only to say that she was married to Shaw for a day and Shaw can't do anything about it.

It's to save their number, after all.

"That'd be me," Root says cheerily, taking a step closer to Carolyn and extending her hand to shake.

Carolyn takes it, but purses her lips, her eyebrows knitted. "So you're both her mother?"

"No," Shaw scoffs at the same time Root smiles, "Yes."

Carolyn only looks more confused.

Root looks at Shaw in her eyes, nudges her lightly, trying to tell her silently to play along. She brings her arm around Shaw's waist. To Shaw's credit, she only tenses under Root's palm, but doesn't push her away.

"What she means is," Root says, turning her attention to Carolyn. "I'm not her biological mother. Sameen is. I met her when she'd just lost her husband. Gen was four at the time." She looks back to Shaw to feign sympathy, though the adoration in Root's eyes is very much real. What she gets in response is Shaw staring off at the wall, clenching her teeth tightly, her jawline becoming more and more prominent.

"I was there to help her put herself back together—Well. Sometimes I broke her as well," Root says slyly. She notices Shaw clench her fists in the corner of her eye, but still, not a peep.

"Eventually, she proposed to me. We got married a year ago, and Gen's called me her mom ever since," Root grins.

Carolyn blinks rapidly, as though she doesn't know how to process the information.

After a moment of fumbling, she says, "That's—that's lovely, Mrs. Shaw."

A faint growl escapes Shaw's throat, and Root squeezes her side to remind her not to break their cover, but really, it only makes the situation worse. If anything, it just makes the murderous look in her eyes more crazed.

Carolyn's eyes shift between Root and Shaw, her skepticism still evident on her face. "If you could just show me a form of ID so I can confirm," Carolyn says to Root, "I'll go ahead and contact Gen's teacher and she'll be off to this office in a few moments."

Root feels Shaw's eyes on her, and Root could probably guess without even looking at her that she's wondering what Root's going to do. Because Shaw hadn't planned this far, and in fact, hadn't plan for this to play out this way at all. And Shaw's probably thinking that it's all going to blow up in their face right here, right now.

But what Shaw doesn't know is that Root always kept an emergency fake ID for the times when she's in between cover identities. One of which—and one of her favorites to use—

is Root Shaw. Root never told Shaw this because she suspects that Shaw wouldn't be the most… supportive person of this alias.

Root nods at Carolyn, taking out a card from her pocket and handing it to her. "Thank you."

Carolyn takes it, and looks at the card then to the computer screen, comparing the two. After a few seconds, she turns to Root, handing her ID back to her. "Looks like it all checks out. I'll call Gen's teacher right now," she tells them, turning her chair around to dial on the phone.

Immediately after her chair's turned, Shaw shoves Root's hand away from her waist, and pulls her arm down so that they were eye-level. Shaw leans in, her face inches from Root's.

"I. Will. _Kill. _You," Shaw seethes in her ear.

Root pulls back, a faint smirk still in place. "Don't make promises you can't keep, Shaw."

"That deal we made? Consider that over. Your life is fair game," Shaw fumes.

Root stares at her innocently. "But just think how Gen's grandfather would feel about this."

"Her grandfather's de—"

"Shaw?" Root hears a little girl's voice call from the doors. They both turn to see who it is.

It's Gen, looking very, very confused.

Shaw looks at Root, then back to Gen, as though she's trying to decide which to deal with first. She must've decided on Gen, because she takes a deep breath, straightening her posture, and starts walking towards her.

"What did I tell you about calling me by my last name?" Shaw asks a little too tightly, her hands on Gen's shoulders as she walks them over to the front desk.

Gen frowns. "But you asked me to call you that."

Root shakes her head, plasters a smile for Carolyn. "Children," Root says simply, as though that explains everything.

"Well," Carolyn chuckles politely. "She does have your…" She trails off, seeing that Gen and Shaw looked nothing alike.

"Personality," Carolyn settles on saying. She opens a cabinet behind the desk and pulls out a white form. She pushes it towards them, along with a pen. "I just need one of you to sign here on the parental sign off sheet, and you both can be on your way."

Shaw grabs the pen and quickly signs the sheet. Root glances down to read it. She deflates when she sees it. It's a different handwriting from the one on her hip_._ She'd known this already, back when she'd entertained the idea that maybe the words that inked her skin was 'Sameen Shaw' and rifled through Finch's library to find anything with Shaw's handwriting on it. After sometime, she did, but what she'd found were papers signed by her after her period as an ISA Agent, in a handwriting that wasn't the same one as her hip. She didn't take the news well that day, and in fact, took down all of the Fortune 500 firewalls that day.

Eventually, she'd accepted it, but there's still a small part of her that hopes each time Shaw signed something, that it's going to be different, that this time it'd match the one Root has on her. And each and every time, it doesn't. She knows this.

It still doesn't sting any less, even now.

Shaw slams the pen down on the table—Carolyn flinches at the sudden noise—and turns around, leading Gen to the door. "Let's go, Gen."

Root gives Carolyn an apologetic smile, even though she isn't really.

"Thanks for your help, Carolyn," Root tells her, before turning around and following Shaw out.

"No problem. I hope that Gen's grandfather makes it out okay."

Root shakes her head, wanting to correct her, but continues walking anyway.

It's not her grandfather they have to worry about.


	7. Chapter 7

Root exits the main office, closing the door behind her. She looks down the hallway to find that Shaw and Gen are already halfway to the stairs, sees Shaw briefly pat Gen's head affectionately. A crooked smile creeps on Root's face. The way Shaw acts around Gen is both unexpected and endearing at the same time-warm, almost-, and it makes Root wonder why and how Gen has this hold on her. She makes sure to make a note of it and pester Shaw about it at a later time, but for now, she focuses on walking quickly to catch up to them, and takes her place next to Shaw.

"Wanna tell me what you've been up to, kid?" Shaw asks, her voice less gruff than usual.

Gen looks up at her, walking in time with Shaw's steps. "Why're you here, Shaw? You usually never come in the building."

Her words catch Root's attention, and her ears perk up. Root leans forward to get a good look at Gen. "Shaw's come here before?"

Gen turns her attention from Shaw and to Root, looking at her suspiciously. She tugs at Shaw's hand. "Who's she?"

Root raises an eyebrow. Honestly, she's the least of Gen's worries. And if Root had any intention of putting her in danger, then she would've by now. But she didn't, and she's not going to. This kid has to give her _some_ credit.

Still, Root answers her question cheekily. "I'm Root, your mother."

Gen narrows her eyes at her. "My mom's in jail."

"Oh," Root says, surprised.

Shaw rolls her eyes, cutting in the conversation. "You're in danger, Gen," Shaw tells her as they start walking down the stairs. "I had to pretend to be your mother to get you out of school, but…" Shaw leers at Root accusingly, before looking down at Gen again. "Something went wrong with Harold hacking into the school system." She nods towards Root's direction. "She showed up in the school records as your mother instead."

Root knows that she didn't have a hand in messing with the glitch, but she'll happily take the credit. She locks her arms with Shaw's.

"And married to you, sweetie," Root adds.

Shaw pushes her away, but not hard enough for Root to lose her balance. Root pouts as they reach the bottom of the stairs.

"Don't think I've forgotten what you did in there," Shaw says under her breath, her voice sounding irritated. Root glances at Gen to see her looking at them, as though she's trying to figure something out.

"The point is…" Shaw turns to look at Gen. "We got you out. Now spill, kid. What've you been up to?"

Gen purses her lips. "A spy never reveals their secrets."

At that, Root snorts. "A spy would never reveal they're a spy."

Gen glares at her.

"Gen," Shaw says sternly as they approach the front door.

She reluctantly relents. "Just school, Shaw."

They both look at her skeptically.

"Well…" Gen starts as Root opens the door for them to exit the building. "A few weeks ago I rigged the entire school with mics and connected them with wires through the vents. But it's only to listen in on the upper classes. My class is so boring, and they won't let me skip my grade," Gen explains.

The corner of Root's lips quirk up, amused. "I like her, Shaw."

Shaw shakes her head. "Didn't you learn from the last time not to do that?"

"But I'm just recording the teachers," Gen justifies.

"She's right, Shaw," Root says. Wiring a school building with microphones to record lesson plans is inconvenient at most. Clever, at best. It wouldn't be a cause for Gen being in harm's way.

From the look on her face, Shaw must know that too.

Shaw frowns, shaking her head. "That doesn't make any sense. Why has her number come up then?"

_5 Vigilance Operatives._

_Left corner._

Root freezes.

Shaw must've noticed and stops walking, putting her hand on Gen's shoulder to stop her too. She turns around to face Root.

"What is it, Root?"

"We've got company, Shaw. Incoming Vigilance's operatives to our left."

Sure enough, five operatives round the corner in front of them. Almost immediately, they spot Gen, and start walking quickly towards them.

Shaw grabs Gen's hand and turns them around to the opposite direction of the sidewalk. "This way," she commands, as she pulls Gen towards the large crowd. Root follows closely behind them, trying to block Gen from Vigilance's line of vision.

"I need one of your guns," Root says.

"You didn't hold your end of the bargain," Shaw scolds, zigzagging through the crowd, trying to lose Vigilance from their trail.

"We have five Vigilance agents following us, Sameen. We're really not in a position to negotiate about this."

Shaw looks at her in disbelief. "Are you honestly telling me that you didn't bring any of yours?"

Root shrugs casually, as though they aren't in a high risk situation right now. "I was hoping you'd be nice enough to share."

Shaw lets out an irritated sigh.

"Fine," Shaw relents, pulling out one of her backup pieces from her back and handing it to Root.

She takes it from Shaw's hands. "Thanks, honey."

Shaw rolls her eyes but chooses not to say anything else as they make it out through the crowd. She looks to the left, then the right, as though she's trying to decide which direction to go.

_Black Lexus._

_Right._

"The Mach-" Root stops, realizing that Gen's with them and probably doesn't and shouldn't know what The Machine is. "_She's_," Root corrects, "telling me that there's a black Lexus on our right that we can get to."

Shaw starts walking, pulling Gen with her. "Do we need to hotwire it?"

"She didn't say."

"I guess there's only one way to find out," Shaw says under her breath as they get closer to the car. She moves to unlock the door to the driver's seat.

It opens.

"Lucky day," Root notes, traces of surprise in her voice. She goes to sit in the driver's seat and starts looking around in the car for a set of spare keys.

_Under car seat._

Shaw closes Root's door and lets go of Gen's hand, opening the passenger door to the back seat. "Get in, Gen."

Gen does what she's told, and starts climbing into the car, moving to the seat in the far end.

"Not that one," Shaw tells her. She points to the one with the booster seat. "This one."

Gen looks at her, unsure if Shaw really means it. "You can't be serious."

"Booster seats reduce the risk for serious injury by almost fifty percent for kids four to eight," Shaw says matter-of-factly.

Gen looks at her incredulously. "I'm eleven!"

"You're under four foot eight," Shaw points out and nods towards the booster seat. "You're getting on the booster seat."

Gen turns to face Root, looking at her pleadingly. "Root!"

Root looks at her from her rearview mirror, her hand blindly feeling under the driver's seat. "Sorry, sweetie," Root apologizes, but she doesn't sound sorry at all. "Your _mother _knows best."

Gen groans, knowing that she can't go against Shaw on this. She moves to sit on the booster seat, locking her seatbelt in.

"I hate you both," Gen grumbles as Shaw closes her door.

Root hears her, but doesn't comment, too focused on finding the car keys for the car. After a moment of blindingly feeling for them, she feels a key ring, hearing the metal jingling. Root smiles, and grabs it, inserting the car key into the ignition.

Root looks up to her rearview mirror again to find Gen pouting.

Root bites her lip. She shouldn't care about this girl. Gen's just a mission. An ordinary mission. An irrelevant number.

But for one reason or another, Shaw cares about her. And if Shaw cares about her, then there's something special about this little girl. Something worth caring for, in Shaw's eyes.

Root looks around in the car to find something she can placate Gen with. She opens the glove compartment, finds registration papers, passports. She closes it and opens the armrest box. She finds two bags of gummy bears.

This will do, Root thinks.

"Here," Root says, handing her one of the bags.

Gen's expression brightens, and she eagerly takes it. "Thanks."

Shaw opens the door to the shotgun seat and sits down, closing the door.

"Did you just give her candy you found in the car?" Shaw asks, putting on her seatbelt.

Root puts her index finger on her lips, mimicking a silent sign. "I won't tell Harold if you won't."

Shaw shakes her head. "Unbelievable."

"Don't be sour, Sameen." She lifts the other bag of gummy bears as she locks her own seatbelt. "There's more than enough candy to go around."

Shaw grabs it roughly from her hands, still scowling. "Just drive, Root."

"I've always wanted a family roadtrip," Root thinks aloud, putting the car into gear.

"Damn it, Root," Shaw says, grabs a handful of gummy bears and pushes them into Root's mouth. "I said just drive."

Root smiles, chewing the candy, and accelerates the car.

"Your wish is my command."


	8. Chapter 8

I just wanted to let you all know that I'm not going to work on this fic anymore. I reread it again and it's just...a complete mess. I don't want to go and rewrite everything/make big edits to it, because again, it's such a mess that I'd probably have to rewrite the entire story, so I'm just going to leave it as an unfinished work. I'll still leave it up, just for those who want to reread it.

Sorry!


End file.
